


A Broken Circle

by AKnightOfAGoodKing



Series: The Wheel of Fortune [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hallucinations, Imprisonment, Incomplete Memory, Non-Linear Narrative, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 16:16:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12821265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKnightOfAGoodKing/pseuds/AKnightOfAGoodKing
Summary: He believed it was just a bad dream, that diary and the boy who lived in it, and life was continued. He had left his family and was working right under Minister Crouch, heading towards the right direction without a hitch in his dreams.Until he found that it was not a nightmare all those years ago but a memory of something very real.





	A Broken Circle

**Author's Note:**

> **[DO NOT REPOST/REUSE MY WORK(S) WITHOUT MY ACKNOWLEDGEMENT AND PERMISSION]**

**Nulla**

"Please, Tom," he begged, crying, "don't do this. Let me go." It was a dream, but it seemed so real, the coldness, the pain, the cruel amusement of his nightmare.

Tom merely smiled, enjoying the younger one's tears. His hands were gripping Percy's thin wrists without yield. "You're my entertainment, Percy," he replied, grinning almost childlike. He was looking at the flushing redness of long, stinging cuts running along Percy's torso, easily seen through the tears in his clothing. "Why would I do such a thing?"

The ghost of a memory let go one of Percy's wrist only to apply pressure to one of the deeper cuts. Percy cried out in pain, whimpering. "Please, Tom," Percy begged as Tom pressed harder. " _Please_."

"A little longer," Tom replied with a thin grin. “Cry for me just a little longer."

.

.

.

**I**

“Weatherby!” Crouch called out, beckoning his assistant to come into his office.

Percy, ever so loyal to higher authority, followed, quietly closing the door behind him. “Yes, Minister?” he asked, enthusiastic to help in any way possible.

“Weatherby, this is Bellatrix LeStrange,” Crouch immediately introduced the other person in the room. The witch was dressed elegantly in black, her hair going in all directions purposefully. She was sitting on the couch, a look of disdain given to Percy. “She has personally request for you, to assist her estate in personal, legal matters.”

Percy blinked in surprise, not expecting this. How many people knew he knew Wizarding law? And Bellatrix LeStrange nonetheless? “I'm honored, Missus LeStrange,” he said, smiling politely. “May I ask why you've ask for me? There are other people who _are_ in the legal department.”

Bellatrix frowned, her words curt. “My lover has been aware of you for a long time now, _Mister_ Weasley,” she answered with a hidden grudge. “He wishes for your presence.”

Percy blushed, keeping his head up to maintain his dignity. “Then I'll be happy to be in your service. When would you like to meet and where?”

.

.

.

**II**

"Missus Lestrange," Percy said, struggling to get out of her grip. His feet were being dragged by her fast pace. "Please, slow down."

The witch stopped, but her grip relented. She had her wand mere inches from his face. "Listen to me, son of blood traitors," Lestrange snarled, anger clear on her face, "you will call me Mistress. You make me sick, Weasley. You and the rest of your pathetic family. If it was up to me, I would have killed each and every one of you years ago, but my master said to wait. My master promised me if I waited, he'll let me have that whore sister of yours. I dream of cutting her pretty skin up in tiny pieces. Maybe I'll even serve them to you."

"Missus Lestrange!" Percy yelled. He may have been apart from his family, but he would never stand to hear his Ginny being spoken like that. "Don't you dare talk about my sister like that! I don't care what your husband wants of me anymore! I'm leaving!"

Lestrange snarled mockingly, letting go of his shoulder only to grab him by his hair, and she continued on, dragging Percy with her. Percy tried to stop her, reaching for his wand, but as if she had read his mind, she snatched it from his hand. She threw it onto the floor and stepped on it harshly. The snapping of his wand was like a physical wound, and a chilling dread washed over him.

Percy was too shocked to pay attention that she had dragged him to the master bedroom, and he was nearly in tears when she threw him in, locking the doors before her. "What are you doing?!" he shouted, demanding the door to open with his fists. "You can't do this! Let me the bloody hell out!"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," came a familiar voice, standing only feet away behind him. A dead shiver overtook his body, and Percy felt himself trembling with cold sweat. He was terrified to turn around to see who it was, keeping closer to the wall and further away from the voice as possible. "Turn around, Percy. It's me, remember?"

"I don't know you," Percy stuttered, heart beating in his ears. "This is not permitted by the law. I'm being kidnapped."

"No, you're not," the voice said, smiling. "You've already been mine for years. Now turn around, Percy, or else I will have to punish you for disobeying me."

The air dropped, and Percy froze, not from the chill but from from the fear. He knew it was wise not to disobey. He _couldn't_ disobey.

Slowly, as he attempted to keep his breath calm, Percy turned around, his attempt failing him with every change of degree. Then he was face to face with that pale, handsome seventh year boy, and the redhead felt the world collapse on his knees.

"Tom," Percy said, and he screamed before the world disappeared.

 .

.

.

**III**

When he came to, Percy found himself undressed on the large, silk covered bed of the master bedroom, and there was a heavy weight around his right ankle. He was wrapped in a thin, silk blanket, and he was shivering from the cold air. He carefully stepped off the bed, feeling weak and tired. He kept the blanket around him, and he took slow steps towards the door, hoping for it to be unlocked. He ignored the thick metal bracelet around his ankle, thinking only to escape. The heavy chains followed him with quiet clinking.

A pale hand caught his wrist before he could even touched the door, and Percy felt the flared of a burning sensation. The hand was a perfect fit, and bits of blurred memories became clear.

Percy jerked back violently, falling to the floor on all fours. He shivered, this time not from the cold.

"You shouldn't be out of bed yet, Percy," Tom said, standing tall above the redhead. "You need to rest up some more. You'll need all the strength you can get."

Percy shuddered, hugging himself in vain attempt to defend himself. "What are you?" he asked, unsure whether he wanted to know the answer or not.

Tom chuckled warmly, towering over his covering victim. "I'm disappointed. I thought you would be smart enough to know by now, Percy. I'm the one everyone is afraid of, whose name must not be spoken."

The blood ran down his face. " _Voldemort_ ," Percy said, feeling like he was drowning. His family was right, and he was the fool. Harry Potter was right, and he was on the wrong side of the upcoming war. "How?"

The handsome yet sickly pale boy gave Percy a pleased smile. "How? You mean how am I still alive? That's easy, Percy. Years and years of waiting and planning, and most importantly, magic. But this isn't my true body. No, it's at Malfoy Manor. This, this is merely an illusion. This is someone else's body, but I took it and cast a part of myself into it. I'm strong enough to do this now, and I'm getting stronger every day."

Percy began to cry, scared. "No," he whispered. "What do you want from me? You had your fun with me years ago! What do you want? I have nothing left!"

Tom raised a poised eyebrow in amusement. Then he laughed. "Why don't I show you instead?" he asked, reaching out before Percy could say another word.

Percy yelped in pain as he was grabbed by the throat by an ice cold hand and thrown onto the bed. He had lost his only protection from the cold and was exposed, making him panic, but he found that he could not move. "Please, no," he begged, voice small and fading. "Not again. Just kill me!"

Tom shushed him gently, draping himself over the redhead. His entire existence was cold, and Percy was trembling again.

"Not yet," Tom whispered into his ear. "Not yet, Percy. I want to break you first, break you until you're nothing more than a husk. Then, when I kill Potter, I'll make you watch as your family and friends be tortured and murdered as I fuck you. I'll show them how disgusting and dirty you are before they die. I’ll show every last of them what kind of filthy animal you've become, so wonderfully submissive. That is when I'll kill you, Percy, and I will enjoy every last moment."

"Please," Percy managed to say through his quiet sobs, "spare me."

.

.

.

**IV**

"You haven't changed much," Tom said, his hands around Percy's neck. His victim could no longer make a sound, voice gone from all the screaming and pleading. He began to squeeze, and Percy weakly struggled for air. "I enjoyed making you scream then, and I enjoy making you scream now. You're much better than Ginerva. She was too much like a harpy for me to enjoy much, but you, you're just perfect. If I could feel love, I would have felt affection for you the first time. I sort of do now, but that is only because I find it so pleasant to my ears. If I never get tired of it, I might not even kill you in the end, Percy. I'm almost glad that your sister got rid of my diary so quickly." Tom sighed in disappointment, letting go.

Percy unconsciously drank as much air as he could, nearly passing out from the lack of it. His throat was burning, dark bruises already forming around his neck. His lips were fading from purple to blue. He did not move. He could not move, save for breathing. His body was calm, all the trembles and shivers gone. He was out before he even realized.

When he awoke again, Tom was smiling, and the process repeated itself, and again, and again.

.

.

.

**V**

“You look terrible,” Lucius stated, his stone-like eyes set on Percy who sat like a sack of bones against the wall.

The door was right beside him, leading to the world, to home, but it would never open to him. It would slam itself shut and devour itself before letting Percy take one step outside.

“I wouldn't be sure,” Percy replied softly, his voice nearly stolen from the screaming and the pleading. “I can't seem to pick up a mirror these days.”

A look crossed the Malfoy’s face, as if he cared for a blood traitor. Sighing, he reached into the pocket of his coat and knelt down in front of Percy, one knee touching the floor as he held out a small, decorative hand mirror. “Here,” he said quietly.

Percy looked, and _Merlin_ , did he looked terrible. His skin was pale, the lack of sunlight and the constant dread showing on his face. There were dark bags underneath his eyes, his freckles more pronounced like nasty dots a child stabbed on with a quill. His hair was longer now, and much redder than he ever remembered it to be, and his eyes, his mother’s precious blue eyes, he saw, were cracked with scarlet webs.

But it was his expression that made him choke out a sob, the look of defeat ingrained in half lid eyes and chapped, bloody lips. He could barely recognize himself, but he knew nobody hated him more than his reflection. “Help me,” Percy cried, dropping his gaze and his head. “Lucius, please.”

The silence he received was answer enough, as two warm arms again lifted him from his place on the rugged floor. His ear settled coincidentally against Lucius' chest, the man’s heart beating too slowly. It was the sound of peace, however temporary.

Lucius carried him back to the master bedroom, that cursed lavender bedroom with four walls and the large, empty bed and nothing else. There were no windows, no painting, not a speck on the walls. There was only a door that was both an entrance and an exist, embodying both his hope of escaping and the power held over him.

“Lucius,” and Percy was suddenly drenched in cold water that left him dry, and he whimpered, clinging onto the sleeve of the arms that held him gently for the first time in forever. 

The arms pulled away, leaving Percy to curl up on the bed, and Tom was sitting by him, brushing his hand almost affectionately against red locks. “He's loyal to me, Percy,” the nightmare reminded. “You have no friends here.”

The door, Percy watched, closed behind Lucius, and he was sure he saw pity in the man’s stone-like eyes.

 .

.

.

**VI**

Food was always there when he woke up, but he could never find the strength to eat, to get up, because his bones were crumbling and his skin was thinner than parchment. He could see the veins in his arms now, dark and blue along with the bruises inked in by strong hands. The red ones were faint, and he saw the knife. He could not find the strength to eat, but he found a coward’s will to crawl over the large, empty bed that provided him no comfort.

With a poor grip, he grabbed the knife, already exhausted from the trip ten feet away. His hand trembled terribly as he pressed the sharp side against his wrist, and he dragged from his palm to his elbow, feeling relief from this bittersweet release.

Blood was dripping, but when it stained the bed covers, the knife was already gone from his hand and bandages around his wrist. "Mistress said you have to live!" a small house elf scolded, sounding off like every other house elf with her high pitched and trembling voice. "The Master will be angry, and Mistress will kill Lili. Don't let Lili die."

"Death is better than this," Percy replied, voice foreign after days of silence. He started screaming. "Anything is better than this!"

"No! Bad Weasley! You talk like this again, and Lili will tie you to bed!"

Anger flared up in Percy, and he hit the house elf, knocking her down. "Don't touch me!" he yelled, shaking. "Don't touch me, you stupid elf!"

She nervously picked herself up, taking away the barely eaten tray of breakfast. It was lunchtime. "Master says if you don't eat," she said, leaving the bedroom, "he will force you to eat."

Left alone in completely silence, Percy sat down on the floor beside the bed, hugging himself as he felt cold and small. There was no one to comfort him, but he wasn't any comfort at all. Instead, he made himself feel colder and smaller. He wished he was back home at the Burrow, but then he wondered if he could even call it home still. Right now, it would only be his mother would be happy to see him, but she was always happy to see any of her children, even if they mischievous and troublesome.

Merlin, he missed home. He missed his father, Bill, Charlie, George, Fred, Ron, Ginny, everyone. He even missed Hermes, and who knows where that owl was with him being away so long? Was there anyone to miss him? Certainly not his family; he hadn't seen them in a year. They would be the last to know that he was missing. What about Crouch? Was he in on all this, letting Percy go so easily? Did he know that the Dark Lord has risen from the death too?

As he thought more, Percy felt betrayed, like he was kicked in the face by a centaur. That was when he stopped thinking, mindlessly reaching out for the apple on the lunch tray and biting into it. He couldn't taste the sweetness of its juices. Everything was too numb.

In the back of his mind, he was think of what was most likely to happen: he willing himself to death or Potter winning against the Dark Lord. Both, however, seemed bleak in the end. Percy would be left with no future.

How long has it been? How long has he been kept a prisoner in this estate of a man—not even a man but a _monster_? How much longer before something finally broke? The walls? Him?

Percy stared out through the large glass window, the garden well kept and pale. The sun was always covered with gray clouds that threaten to rain. He did not feel a thing but the emptiness that was eating him inside, the dread of _him_ returning to hurt him, to lie to him, to touch him gently and whisper horrors into his ears.

Death was better than this.

 .

.

.

**VII**

Sometimes, when Tom came to him, the man was gentle, and that was when Percy hated himself the most, disgusted by his cowardice because Tim was gentle. He was caressed and kissed, not scathed and burning. It was as if he was being loved, and Percy could not help but reach out for it, the softness, the gentleness, the _love_. And Tom would smile.

It was such a cruel smile.

“Did you love me?” Tom asked once, and Percy felt like he was drowning as he tried to swallow down his tears. Tom thumbed at his bottom lip, leaning closely until they were mere centimeters apart. His very touch was eating away at Percy’s heat. “Answer me, Percy.”

“Yes,” Percy choked out as Tom continued to move so skillfully in him, turning him inside out. He was ashamed, the pleasure relieving him. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“And do you love me now?”

Percy was between pleasure and shame, sticking himself to this one moment because it was kind, it was affectionate; nothing hurt but the guilt that ran through his veins like acid. “ _Yes_ ," he repeated, lying to himself, and he wrapped his arms around Tom’s unnaturally strong shoulders, pressing their lips together in desperation, sucking out what he could from this. There was that smile again.

And when Tom was gone again, Percy was still awake, left behind like an old quill. He curled up in the thin satin sheet, feeling worse than dirt. Dirt had soil, and soil was fertile, healthy and made life. Percy was none of that; he wasn’t much of anything however long it had been since he was forced into this estate.

 .

.

.

**VIII**

He woke up warm once again, a welcome feeling, and he opened his eyes to a quiet Narcissa. She had become a fading presence in the Estate, willing to give him kindness but always seemed to be away except for a moment or two. His head was on her lap again, smelling like fresh water. He couldn't move, not even a finger twitched when he tried to reach out for her in gratitude.

He was not in that room, and Narcissa was not sitting on anything but the floor. He had passed out from exhaustion, wandering aimlessly around the halls of the Estate. He had thought that if he had walked far enough from that room, Tom would grow irritated and spare him this one time.

“The floor,” he breathed out weakly. “It’s not clean.”

Narcissa gave him a small smile, thumbing across his forehead. “Nothing a spell or two can't fix,” she replied. “It’s comfortable enough. You wouldn't be here if my sister hadn't taken that house elf with her.”

“Lili.”

“Yes, Lili. There is tragedy how there are so many flowers in the world but there are always big men stamping on them with their overbearing feet. A shame.”

Percy focused on breathing, and for a moment, he was at peace, the past a mere memory and the future a mere thought. The present was all that mattered because right now, it felt a little like home. “Help me,” he whispered, his eyes searching in desperation when she shook her head, her blonde locks swaying with her movement.

The sound of footsteps echoed closer, and Narcissa looked away from Percy to see her husband, looking a little thin too but much better than Percy. He was the kind of thin that refused to eat because he couldn't stand to stomach much anymore. Lucius Malfoy was a hungry man, but all that was put on his plate repulsed him. He only ate to appease those around him.

“Dear,” Lucius said, stopping a few feet away from Percy’s feet, “shall we go?” He spoke very politely to his wife, a sign of his respect for her, and his outreached hand a gesture of affection.

“Soon, Lucius,” Narcissa replied. “I should bring him back to bed. The floor is not as comfortable as I make it look.”

If Percy had the strength, he would have smile slightly, noticing the quip. He began to to close his eyes.

He faded in and out of the blackness, feeling safe in Lucius’ arms as he was lifted from the floor and carried through the halls.

 .

.

.

**IX**

For once, when he woke up, the Estate felt as empty as it looked. There was not another living soul in those walls, not even Lili when he called, and Percy, for the first several hours, did nothing but lay on the cold bed, staring at the door, fearing who would return. He was nothing but exhausted, too exhausted to think but also too exhausted to drop back to sleep. So he stared, and nothing came.

It was night when he finally crawled out of that bed, one hand grasping the thin silk to hide his shame as he pushed open those metal doors. He had forgotten about the large, open windows of the hall, and he nearly forgotten how the sky looked like, how the stars twinkled, scattered like white sand on a black drop. It was a beautiful sight, and it was cold.

He clung against the wall as he walked away from that room, but no door opened for him. It just felt like one long hallway, stretching endlessly with so many stolen opportunities, branching off into so many open rooms that offered little to nothing. His breath became labored, desperately slamming his hands against any door.

They were so thin now, and raw. They had never seen them like this, not even after hours and hours of writing and rewriting reports and essays. Nothing could’ve ruin them like _this_.

Then he reached it, the other end of the hallway, and there he saw a glass door. There was a garden behind it, he saw, filled with white flowers that seemed to glow like the moon. For a moment, he was happy. This was his chance to escape. He wanted to go home, not his apartment in Diagon Alley but the Burrow. He wanted to go to the beach again. He wanted to walk the grounds of Hogwarts again. He wanted to drink butterbeer and eat chocolate frogs. He wanted to see his brothers and sister. He wanted his Mum and Dad. He wanted to say sorry.

He began to pound at the glass door, and everything was wet with blood.

He didn’t know how long he tried.

He didn’t know how hard he tried.

He merely remembered the last taste of freedom.

Finally, the door shattered, and his hopes broke apart with the pieces that fell, revealing the room at the other end of the hall, four walls with a single bed. He was not too exhausted to scream in agony.

When he woke up, the Estate felt as empty as it looked. There was not another living soul in those walls, not even Lili when he called, and Percy, for the first several hours, did nothing but sat on a chair at a lonely dinner table, staring at the door, yearning for someone to return. He was nothing but exhausted, too exhausted to think but also too exhausted to drop back to sleep. So he stared, and no one came.

He did not move, and there was no food on the table. There was no food for the next day.

And that was he could no longer ignore the hunger pangs. It was hard to breath, and he was dying.

 .

.

.

**X**

There was someone in the Estate, finally, a man with long platinum hair.

“Eat,” Lucius said, holding a spoonful of oatmeal with honey and berries. He was dressed impeccably, leather gloves adorning his lithe hands. “Come now, boy. There isn’t much time.”

Maybe it was because of the man’s urgency or the hunger, but Percy obeyed, accepting the offered morsel. To anyone else, this might have been nothing but the plainest breakfast choice, but nothing could ever taste so fine, so _filling_.

Percy could not express his gratitude, so he savored every mouthful.

When the bowl was done, Percy thought Lucius would leave right away, but to his surprise, the oldest Malfoy picked him up in his arms, like carrying a small package somewhere Percy had never been before because doors opened for Lucius. It took a moment, but Percy figured he was in the bathroom. It was grand, probably costing more to build than to maintain with all the marble titles and columns. There were balconies all around, the hot steam floating out naturally. And the bath, it was large and ready to use, the water clear enough to see the intricate motifs of the Lestrange family.

It was odd how gentle Lucius placed him into the water, which felt scalding hot against his cold skin. The thin silk slipped away onto the title flooring. “Wash up, boy,” the man said, watching as Percy remained unmoving.

 .

.

.

**XI**

_Oh, Penny, sweet Penny._

He had forgotten how yellow her hair was, how blue her eyes were. If only she wasn't sitting at the edge of the bed, inches which seemed like miles away from his tired body, looking to the wall instead of him. Somehow, she had managed to conjure up a window in this dungeon of a bedchamber, and it was beautiful outside, even if the light was too bright in his eyes. He could not see her, but he knew how the outline of her shape was like. He had touched her before, felt her with his hands and his lips.

He had forgotten how sweetly she loved him.

“Oh, Percy, sweet Percy,” she said, not mocking but not comforting either. “What happened to you? You weren't like this less than five years ago. What did you do?”

He took in a deep breath, needing as much air as he could so that he could answer. It was tiring him out already. His eyes were half closed, barely struggling to keep open. “I don't know, Penny,” he replied, nearing tears again. “Is this my fault, Penny?”

“I don't know either, Percy. I guess it is. You don't exist anymore, remember? When was the last time anyone have seen you?”

Percy thought about that, recalling the last few days. Or was it weeks? Months? There was too many long stretches of time when he didn't see anyone, not even Tom. Lili had all but disappeared, her presence only told to him by the food left out. It was hard to tell when an hour passed in the Estate, Percy not trusting what he saw. Illusions ran rampant in the halls and wreaked havoc in his head.

“I don't know either, Percy. I guess it is. You don't exist anymore, remember? When was the last time anyone have seen you?”

Percy thought about that, recalling the last few days. Or was it weeks? Months? There was too many long stretches of time when he didn't see anyone, not even Tom. Lili had all but disappeared, her presence only told to him by the food left out for him. It was hard to tell when an hour passed in the Estate, Percy not trusting what he saw. Illusions ran rampant in the halls. They wreaked havoc in his head.

“I don't know, Penny,” he said again, finally, his mouth dry with blood. “I miss it though, existing. I miss mattering to someone, Penny. I miss you.”

“But did you ever matter to anyone, Percy? Why are you still here? If someone cared for you, they'd find you by now. I don't. That's why I'm not here, Percy. What did you do?”

Percy wept quietly. “I existed, Penny, when I didn't need to. I had dreams and ambitions, but they were never meant to be. I'm not Potter. Or Dumbledore. I'm just Percy.”

She hummed, musing, and maybe she looked over her shoulder to him but he missed it, his eyes closing in on him now. “Yes, that sounds about right. You weren't meant to spin the Wheel of Fortune like the others. You were only meant to accept what was already decided for you. Aren't you sorry, Percy? Don't you feel silly?”

Percy closed his eyes because the light from the conjured window became too strong, and he was blinded with black.

“I feel ridiculous, Penny, and I'm very sorry.”

 .

.

.

**XII**

The hand combing through his hair was gentle, and the blue of his eyes were dull, his body trembling in fear though his expression did not portray his instinct. His body had given up trying to connect to his mind, giving off the barest hint of the fear twisting and turning in him.

“Have you been eating?” Tom asked, pleased to pet his captive’s head on his lap. This wasn't his body though, Percy knew. It belonged to someone else. He'd noticed, the face of Tom’s soul quicker to reveal his amusement and cruel smile than the face of the man whose body he had stolen. Or was it borrowed? Forcibly so, from a Death Eater, a pureblood. Nothing less, of course.

“Come on, Percy, don't be rude now,” Tom continued with a light tone. “Speak when you're spoken to.”

Percy nearly choked when he swallowed, trying to salivate his dry mouth. “I tried,” he answered, his hand on Tom’s knee not restrained from gripping tightly. “But I'm never hungry.”

Tim cooed, chuckling a little. “I suppose I should help you. I like having you locked up here.”

Percy let out a studdering breath as Tom made him sit up, sharp nails at his stomach pressing into his skin. He whimpered when the first burst of pain came, and he knew the bedsheet was stained. “Tom, please, stop,” he begged, pushed onto his back. He couldn't struggle.

“Hush, Percy,” Tom said, daintily picking a piece of fruit from the table beside them. He placed it in his mouth, chewing on it just a bit before pressed his lips against Percy’s, feeding the grape to the other.

Percy tried to push him away, but he gasped out in pain when Tim pressed a thumb into his pierced wound, swallowing the fruit against his will. He was not allowed a chance to spit it out, the young image of the Dark Lord not yet pulling away.

It tasted bitter, and Percy savored the taste as his body burned.

 .

.

.

**XIII**

He was never sure how long it had been since he last saw anyone. The silence in the Estate had become deafening, a constant high pitched ringing in his ears whenever he was awake, which was often. He couldn't remember when it was never there. It sounded like a tension, like something was about to drop.

So when he woke up once, it had disappeared. And there was nothing, and then there were _birds._

Percy, at an instant, was terrified, because this was a trick. He didn't move. He felt dread fall off him like a sweat when the door opened, a tiny creak echoing within the four walls. _This is a trick. Don't get your hopes up._

“Mister Weasley, you must hurry.”

Percy froze. _This isn't real._

Lili stumbled in, her hands shaking as her eyes darting here and there without a second in between. She quickly went to Percy's side, grabbing his arm without warning and pulling him to stand. “Hurry, Mister Weasley,” she urged, “we don't have much time!”

“Stop!” Percy shouted, confused and scared. “Let me be!”

Lili’s wide brown eyes were wet, pulling at him again. “Be quiet, Mister Weasley! Lili is trying to save you! The battle at Hogwarts, it has ended! Mistress is dead, and Lili is free! Mister Weasley is free to go home!”

_Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies._

“You're lying.”

“Lili does not lie! Lili is telling the truth! Believe me, Mister Weasley! Potter won! The Dark Lord is dead! You're free to go home!”

Percy dropped to his knees, and he should've felt relieved, cleansed, washed away. _Happy._

And he felt was emptiness. He was free, free to leave this bedchamber, to walk out of these large halls, to open doors. But where would they go? Where could he go, after _this_? Where was home? How many people died from the War? How many of his brothers die? What about Ginny? Mum? Dad? His professors?

He couldn't go home. He didn't belong there. It had changed so much without him. He had changed so much without _it._ Where would he fit then? He wouldn't, because everyone else had built it around them, but Percy, he chose to walk out on it. He didn't deserve home. He didn't want to go home. He didn't want to see how different it had become. He didn't want to see how different he had become. He couldn't go home anymore.

“No,” he said slowly. “I don't have a home. Take me somewhere far away from here. From all this magic. I can't stand it anymore. It hurts to remember. Make it all disappear. Please.”

Lili seemed saddened by that, but he paid it no mind. “But Mister Weasley, you belong here,” she said, letting go of her harsh grasp. “You'll be alone.”

“I don't care. I've gotten used to it. Lili, please.”

The house elf lowered her head, nodding in acceptance. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he was on the streets of London, dressed in a poorer man’s clothes. He had forgotten how anything but silk felt against his skin. It was warm, thicker and hid him better. They were in between two buildings almost pressing up against each other. Percy felt like suffocating.

“Thank you,” he said, swallowing hard. He had not yet got his voice back, but Merlin, how he missed speaking to someone. He tried not to cry, but they fell any way. He was free.

“Yes,” Lili said, a glum expression in her face. “I'll miss you, Mister Weasley.”

“Percy. Call me Percy, Lili. It's the least I can do for you.”

“Mister Percy. What will you do now, Mister Percy?”

Percy didn't know. “I don't know. I'll start a new life here. I'll forget. No more magic. Too many memories. I can't face them. Not now. Not _ever._ I can't go back anymore. I _won't_ , Lili. It hurts to remember. He's dead, but I can feel him. He'll always _there._ I can't go back anymore. I don't exist, Lili.”

“But Mister Percy _does_ exist. Lili knows him. Lili is friend with him. Lili cries for you all the time.”

Percy gave her a small smile, grateful. “I know, Lili. And thank you. Don't came back here again. Please.”

Lili let out a loud cry, her eyes threatening to pop as she hugged herself, the sack replaced with rags sewn by skilled hands. “Lili wishes you'd change your mind.”

Percy shook his head. “I can't.”

“Then take this, Mister Percy, and if you need Lili, call for her and she will come. It's yours, Mister Percy. It always has.”

And in her hand appeared his wand, which had snapped in two but came back together again, as new as it first picked him to be its user. _Phoenix  feather, pine, 10 inches, supple. _ He didn't want it.

“Please, Mister Percy,” Lili begged, holding the wand out to him. “Please.”

Percy sighed, and he nodded, taking his wand back. He felt his heart connect back with the core, and he let out a shaky breath, feeling a little less empty now. He put it in the pocket of his trousers.

“Goodbye, Mister Percy,” Lili said. She snapped her finger. “Lili misses you.”

And alone, Percy walked out, limping into the moonlit streets of Muggle London.

 .

.

.

**XIV**

He woke up with a start, sitting up as if he had just woke up from a nightmare. It had to be. Tom didn't exist. It was all a dream when he was still at Hogwarts. The rape didn't happen, and he was not trapped in LeStrange Estate.

But everywhere hurt, and he was falling, unable to sit up any longer. This wasn't real.

“You're awake, Percy Weasley. Lili brought you food to eat. You must eat, or else Mistress will get angry with Lili.”

Percy turned his head to the voice, and there was a house elf with a cart, her brown eyes too big for her ugly face and the sack that passed for clothes was degrading and dirty. She looked like a bag, her limbs lacking muscle but had all the bones. Percy was revolted.

“What?” he voiced out by accident. Was he still dreaming?

“Lili brought you something to eat, Percy Weasley,” she said, gesturing with a big smile at the platter of food. “Mistress and the Dark Lord said to take care of you, and Lili can cook good food!”

“This ain't real.”

Lili frowned. “It is real. Or else Mistress will beat Lili. You able to eat, Percy Weasley. Or you'll make the Dark Lord angry. He is not a good person. He will kill you, Lili knows. Try this!”

The elf brought up a bowl of porridge onto the bed, slowly so that Percy could get it, but the wizard pushed her away, the sound of a porcelain bowl shattering onto the floor. The warm porridge was splattered over the floor and part of the bed, the littlest on the hand Percy pushed the elf with, and it burned.

“ _Lies_!” Percy bellowed, throwing the platter of food onto the floor with a rage. He didn't care that his body was screaming for him to stop. “ _Get out! This isn't real! Get out! Out! Out! Out!_ ”

The house elf was sobbing, afraid of Percy’s anger, and she disappeared. And so did the mess he made. They all disappeared, the food, the mess, the burning porridge on his hand, except for the nightmare he thought he had dreamt.

 .

.

.

**XV**

When he was younger, when he was hiding away so that he wasn't dragged into playing with his younger brothers—because George and Fred always ganged up on him—the one that always found him hours later was Charlie, the one who was older but not old enough to go to Hogwarts yet like Bill. And Charlie was very close to Bill, Percy always remembered, but before he left for school, Charlie was very close to Percy too. That, Percy rarely remembered. It was just a long time ago, and a lot had happened. They'd changed.

Charlie became popular, more excited as his love for Quidditch and dragons became more apparent as the school years went by. He was smart and charming. He made people laugh. He was a good older brother.

But Percy, he became strict, smart but always having to put the extra effort to stay on top. He didn't like using the broom, and he made friends very carefully. He stayed away from anyone who'd likely damage his reputation by association. He took away points, and he was always frowning at his younger brothers and Ginny. He was never a good older brother.

“Do you really believe that?” Charlie asked, sitting against the wall across Percy's bed. “I think you did your best, Percy. Merlin knows I had problems being a good older brother sometimes. I was lucky I had Bill, and only he knows how hard he had it by himself.”

Percy was laying in his back, his head resting against the pillow and the sheet over him. He was very still, but he was listening, clinging onto every word. “I was never like you, Charlie,” he confessed, his lips bone dry. “I never could. I wasn't enough.”

Charlie made an upset noise. “You were. _Are._ You care. You still love us.”

For a moment, Percy believed that. Then he curled up on himself, dismissing the thought. “I don't know, Charlie. You only know as much as I do.”

The door burst open with a bang, and Charlie was smashed into the wall, leaving Percy alone with the mistress of the Estate. “You were speaking to someone,” she said, her eyes hard on Percy like a stone bricks on his chest. “ _Who_?”

Percy didn't even try to give her a reply, continuing to stare at the empty ceiling. He tried to ignore her as she stomped towards the bed.

“Answer me, blood traitor,” she demanded, grabbing him by his long strands of hair. “Who were you talking to?”

Percy winced at the pain, a light tough these days. “There's no one here to talk to,” he managed to spit out, pulling away. He had to concentrate on breathing.

Bellatrix was angered by that, and she smacked him across the face. She wasn't much in a good mood, even Percy could tell. She hit him with her own hand, no wand or magic. She hit him like a Muggle would, with a clenched fist, and he couldn't help but chuckle a bit at that. Even Da, who loved Muggles and Muggle cultures, had never done such a thing, not that Percy had seen.

All the air from his lungs was being sucked out of him, and Percy was seeing black spots in his vision.

“Laugh at me?” he could barely hear her say. He could only  see her shape now. “Laugh now, blood traitor.”

All the air rushed back in without warning, and Percy’s head was as light as feather, a small breeze away from flying off far, far away. He didn't notice as Bellatrix straddled him, pulling away the silk from him and lifting the bottom of her dress. She was warm there, unlike her heart and her eyes.

“Please, Mistress," Percy begged, trying to push her away, but she gripped his wrists and placed them over his head, pressing herself against him with a sneer. He sobbed when he felt himself harden against his will. “Please.”

“Shut up, mud loving scum,” she bit out, pressing against him harder at an angle which brought slight sliver of pleasure. He was openly weeping. She let him go, her hands reaching between them, and without a care in the world, she slipped him inside her.

Percy let out a groan, choking on the sound as she started out quicker than he had ever experienced. She was rough, gripping tightly at his wrists again, as she let out a cold laugh, moaning as she held him tight.

“Be honored, Weasley,” she said, her breathing getting heavy with a smile. Then her face turned sour, rage coming back to her. “ _You should be honored._ You're the one he's fucking. You're the one he comes to make himself smile. You're the one he comes to when he. Has. _Me._ How _dare_ you? How _dare_ you take him from me? What do you have that I don't?! I'm _beautiful_! You're just a Weasley! A traitor to Magic! I would had your head Apparated off your body a long time ago, but here, you. _Are. Fucking me._ Don't I feel good, Weasley? Aren't you honored? Maybe, just maybe, we will have a child together, from this single act, and he'd give you to me because I've been so loyal to him. So loyal to fuck a blood traitor and bear pure blooded sons and daughters just for him. _Do you feel honored, Weasley_?”

Percy didn't know when she left. He didn't know if he reply, and if he did, what did he answer? He only found himself staring back at the ceiling again, finding it so hard to breathe, but this time, he felt dirtier, like a piece of glass stained with too many drops of ink. He couldn't see himself anymore. He couldn't see himself anymore. He couldn't see himself anymore. He couldn't see himself anymore. He couldn't see himself anymore. He couldn't—

“Oh, little brother, what have they done to you?” Bill asked. His voice was beside the door, where Charlie was, but Percy didn't move to look. “How did this happen?”

He heard a wheel turning, and he heard a snap and more turning, a broken circle trying to spin with gaps between its lines.

.

.

.

**FINIS**

Once in awhile, the lady of the estate returned, wearing a sneer whenever she saw Percy, and he watched her as she walked through the large halls, Lili cowering after her. Most of the time, she came alone. Very rare, someone was with her, whether it was her legal husband, another Death Eater, or her sister Narcissa.

Percy never knew the Malfoys, outside of being one of the wealthiest and oldest bloodline in the magic community. They must be very atrractive people he thought, as he took in the older woman’s appearance, platinum blond hair that seemed like silver and always holding herself up with such regalness with her thin, lithe figure. There was something cold to her, he noticed, whenever her pale colored eyes glanced over him, but he recognized a maternal instinct in her expression. He would know; his own mother used to looked at him like that.

Narcissa Malfoy was, perhaps, not as horrible as he believed her family to be, not when he woke up to the touch of _kindness_. It was warm, the sun in a year long winter that clouded the sky forever. Merlin, he was tired, and he wished it was his mother, humming gently out of the night.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice hoarse. It had been so long since he said anything but beg hopelessly.

The humming stopped, and he already missed it. “You’re a Weasley,” she said, combing her light fingers through his red hair, “one of seven children. It may be difficult to believe, but I’ve always been envious of your mother. She has so many children, and I have only the one, a beautiful son. It’s laughable how small we are, though we have the money, the influence, everything but half a dozen children. The Manor is always too big, but rarely anyone to walk through the dozens of halls and the grand gardens. But after this war, your mother will suffer more than I ever will, because she has more precious children to lose. I've never hated her. I've only ever understood her."

That was thoughtful, Percy thought, not wanting to to interrupt her. His silently asked her to hum her song again. If she heard, Percy believed she did, and it gave him hope.

**Author's Note:**

> (just an idea I had a few years back, and i finally got it finishing the prologue story. i hope you'll hang around for the rest of the series.)
> 
> If you like my work(s), please check out my Twitter and consider supporting me: [@kappachyun](https://twitter.com/kappachyun?s=09).


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